So begin the simple directives, shared with the audience members, that guide the stone-faced, barefooted women standing against a minimalist backdrop of ROOMS, a small standalone gallery in Pilsen. Todd and Marrakesh Frugia’s one-night-only performance art piece, “Songs From the Sea of Boths,” came on a warm, inviting evening as gallery-goers streamed along S. Halsted for Second Fridays. During the three-hour period of the show, the women stood in the gallery ringing their chimes as viewers came and went, staying as long or as short a period as they liked.

After turning into the narrow entryway, an unobtrusive white door with a sign asking for viewers to “please enter quietly” opens,  inviting the sounds of the delicate, penetrating chimes and the slow, rhythmic steps of the twelve women. They stand straight-backed, arms raised, the thin silver chimes clasped in their hands and dangling from their wrists, forming angular, geometric traces against the bare white canvas of their simple sleeveless dresses.

The chimes ring out without pattern, as some of the women stand statue-still and others slowly lift an arm to ring a chime. A few women put down their arms and speak: “Each of their own,” they say, following a prescribed script, turning to either the left or the right. “Sometimes one. Sometimes the other,” they continue, stepping according to the instructions.

“We’ve been dealing a lot with sort of random patterns and rules,” Frugia says, describing the piece as a game of sorts for the performers. They can strike one of their chimes, or turn left or right, but can only take a limited number of steps. Drawing from a theatrical and literary background, the artists had given the performers a specific script to follow as they lower their arms and turn.            Frugia says that audience reaction has varied widely, alternately describing the performance as marionette-like, mechanical, or like a sea. “We’re giving a fertile soil for art to grow,” Frugia says, likening the process to a farmer throwing seeds onto a field, not knowing exactly what will sprout. “There’s always someone who just walks in, looks at the piece, and their face just kind of gets stuck…That’s the audience member I’m going for, that person that gets mesmerized or trapped.”

Originally, the piece was commissioned for a wedding, Frugia says—something that was unique in their artistic experience. “We wanted a piece that was about two things that were coming together,” she explained. The “Boths,” then, refer to the two chimes on the wrists of the performers: “through the actor, [the separate chimes] become a both.”

Furthermore, he is interested in the effort driving the choices that the women make. They must hold their arms up throughout the performance, save for the very strict stipulations set in the script. They can ring either chime, as long as each chime is allowed to fully ring out before ringing another. The instructions provide for the inevitable tiring of their arms by allowing them to be lowered when a performer wants to recite the script.

Marrakesh and Frugia drew performers from their theater friends and from connections with actors and models, as well as from regulars who see their pieces and ask to participate—those curious to know what it would be like to stand and ring a bell for three hours. “We do these long, endurance-driven shows,” he says.  “The piece is for them just as much for the audience.”

The women move in the space as if in a dream, the gentle rings and the low murmur of their voices creating a slight hum in the air, as their bare feet pad slowly, methodically, across the floor. The white of their dresses almost glows, and the movement and non-movement of their bodies form an eerie spontaneous choreography. “But a single both in a sea of boths,” they say. “What music.”

835 S. Halsted St. Hours by appointment. (312)733-1356. chicagoartsdistrict.org

Best Taquería
Taquería Los Comales
Nuevo León is often touted as the best place to chow down before heading out to Second Fridays, a monthly open house of Pilsen’s many art galleries. But do not be tricked. Instead, head across the street to Los Comales which, while it does not have the same charming décor as Nuevo León, is cheaper and consistently tastier. One reviewer on Yelp.com proclaimed Los Comales the most authentic Mexican restaurant in Chicago (and he’s Mexican, so he’s got cred), and I’m not one to argue. You can sample some of the more exotic Mexican meat options, like tripa (tripe), sesos (brain), and lengua (cow tongue). The tacos are served a la Mexicana, with cilantro, onions, and freshly-made salsa, and the meat is impeccably spiced. The gorditas are different combinations of beans, cheese, and pork rinds, and taste as delicious as they sound. And possibly the best part? They’re open till 4am on Fridays and Saturdays. 1544 W. 18th St. Monday-Thursday 8am-midnight; Friday-Saturday 8am-4am; Sunday 8am-1am. (312) 666-2251. www.loscomales.com (Katie Buitrago)

Best Goat Tacos
Birriería La Barca Jalisco
Note: This restaurant is technically in Pilsen’s sister neighborhood, Little Village.
I speak Spanish, so I’m not usually too concerned about going deep into the non-English-speaking reaches of Chicago’s Latino cuisine. But I had no idea what was on the menu at Birriería La Barca Jalisco: Guilotas? Guevera? Azada? Machito? Tejuino?* Even my dad, the native Spanish speaker, who I called in a fit of desperation, couldn’t offer any help. “It sounds made-up,” he said. Great. Well, whatever it is, they do it right. I stuck with the words I knew—al pastor (pork) and birria (goat) tacos—and was treated to some of the best tacos I’ve ever had. They’re served on exquisite, thick homemade tortillas. And it’s one of the few restaurants in the city that serves the Jalisco specialty of birria tatemada, goat made in consommé and seasoned with mole before browning in the oven and refrying on the grill. Don’t be deterred if you’re less than linguistically gifted: the waitstaff-cum-cooks speak enough English to take your order. Just pick something at random and you’ll be in for a treat. 4304 W. 26th St. (773)522-1450 (Katie Buitrago)
*Machito, I’ve discovered, is coiled tripe and gut, guevera is catfish roe, and tejuino is a drink made from cornmeal and lime juice. I’m still in the dark about the others. Contact the Weekly if you can shed some light (cwedit@gmail.com).

Most Intimate Theater
EP Theater
EP Theater is proof that Chicago, most commonly known as a city with superior improvisational theater, also has a serious side. Located in Pilsen, the EP Theater is a small, independent theater company that could be easily missed when walking down Halsted between 18th and 19th Streets, especially because the entrance is located in back. Upon entering the building, its doors outlined by white Christmas lights, you feel like you’re stepping inside the home of an old friend. The dimly lit yet lively lobby area showcases artwork by local artists and features a bar with beer and spirits. The theater itself, a simple black box theater, seats around fifty people with no elevated stage. Ultimately, the lack of a raised stage works in EP Theater’s favor, as the audience is drawn into the play immediately. There is a level of intimacy between the actors and the audience that does not exist at bigger theater companies. Whether you live for theater or barely know who Shakespeare is, EP Theater has a little bit of something for everyone. And if you’re an aspiring playwright, act fast; last week the theater announced an open call for submissions of all sorts. 1820 S. Halsted St. (312)850-4299. eptheater.com (Tiffany Kwak)

Best Art Gallery Under a Highway
Rooms
Off the beaten path of the Pilsen prime gallery drag, if you’re in the neighborhood, Rooms is worth a gander. Despite its location under the Dan Ryan Expressway, Rooms is unaccountably serene—a tranquil two-story flat-to-gallery converted space. Owners Todd and Marrakesh Frugia frequently co-create original productions that vary from proper theater such as January’s “Bird Dog Sedition” to video installations such as November’s “12-Speak.” They occasionally lease the space to other artists, putting up new shows about once a month. Every third Thursday Frugia opens the gallery for “Salon,” an outlet for aspiring artists to perform or display their art. 645 W. 18th St. Friday, 7-10pm, or by appointment. www.roomsgallery.com (Rachel Reed)

“Your house is a minefield… just like your car, just like the orchard, just like the backyard.” This disturbing message of Martin Crimp’s production, “Advice to Iraqi Women,” is clear through the satirical juxtaposition of motherhood in two very separate worlds. The Rooms Gallery in Pilsen will be hosting this unique interactive performance installation on April 25th and 26th from 7-10pm in conjunction with Artropolis, the annual constellation of art expositions and fairs held at the Merchandise Mart this weekend. The performance is free, but suggested donations go to the American Friends Service Committee to benefit Iraqi refugees.

There’s an immediate discomfort upon walking into Rooms Gallery for “Advice to Iraqi Women.” Instead of finding a spot in the audience, attendees must decide at which of the eight desks they would like to sit, behind all of which a well-dressed lady awaits. After scanning the room to reassure yourself you choose any open desk that looks comfortable enough, but the nature of the monologue about to ensue remains a mystery. At first when the woman across the table begins a presentation to address her guest—her viewer, participant, and subject—on the correct measures to be taken in order to ensure a child’s well being, her concerns seems bizarrely irrelevant. Suggestions like “Make sure to put locks on all the cabinets in the kitchen” and “Always put sunscreen on your child” seem trivial in light of the politically loaded title of the production.

Gradually, the theme sinks in. Dripping with condescension, the simplistic directions and elementary presentation of such “obvious” worries involved in childcare force the viewer to think twice about what is being said. “Your house is a war zone.” Though the presentation refers to household hazards like stairs and cabinets, from the perspective of an Iraqi woman the statement is a literal reality. The triviality of a sunburn pales in comparison to the kind of burning faced by Iraqi families—a day at the pool doesn’t stack up to a nearby bomb explosion. While listening to assurances that a doctor will come immediately at any sign of sickness or that you can get anything you need from a local pharmacy, you consider the falsity of these assertions on a global scale.

However, the purpose of the production is not to provoke a sense of pity, but rather to criticize that idea in itself. “Advice to Iraqi Women” takes a critical look at the American mentality when viewed in this dynamic. The production description encourages the viewer to listen to “this series of trite maternal recommendations with the ears of a mother who’s endured unimaginable horrors at the hands of her benevolent counselors.” Marrakesh, the director of the show and a co-founder of Rooms Gallery, makes this statement about the production on her website: “I’d like to believe I have good intentions in everything I do. I’d like to believe I’m a compassionate and caring human being. I’d like to believe I have other people’s best interest in mind when I try to help them. I’d like to believe the President has good intentions in everything he does. I’d like to believe the President is a compassionate and caring human being. I’d like to believe the President has other people’s best interest in mind when trying to help them. But the real truth is… I don’t always have good intentions in everything I do. The President is not always a compassionate and caring human being. And we—the President and I—most certainly don’t always have other people’s best interest in mind when trying to help them. But I do KNOW that I have the ability to see those flaws in myself and can work to rectify them. I can only hope our leaders can do the same.”

Rooms Productions, 645 W. 18th St. April 25, 26, 7pm. web.mac.com/roomsproductions

Art’s always been important. Not just music; all kinds of art. It’s spiritual. I mean, it’s hard to explain: it’s just a feeling. I’d be creating music…Right now, I’m creating music and it depends on how I’m feeling. Everyday is different. The whole picture is relative.

You need art everywhere. It keeps us alive. We just happen to be on the South Side. If we’d be on the North Side it would be the same.

…We need art. Art has always been. We develop and play music here [at the Velvet Lounge] and some musicians might not go far, but some will.
- Fred Anderson
Velvet Lounge

Pilsen has given me a great opportunity to interact with the public directly from my art studio. Living and working within the Chicago Arts District for the past four years has helped me actively put my work out on the Chicago scene. Being able to work full-time on my art and support myself is important. I definitely have been lucky, but utilizing the tools that surround me has aided my pursuits.
- Gabe Lanza
Lanza Studio

Art matters because at its core art does not matter. That’s what I love about it. Our lives are full of things that “matter,” be it our jobs, our family and friends, the things going on in our city, not to mention the country and the world. Art is an oasis. It is the open and empty space we can fill with whatever we want. And the beauty of it is that at the end of the day what we put on that blank canvas does not matter (except maybe to our ego). It does not matter whether we like it or not. It does not matter whether we understand it or not. It doesn’t even matter whether we pay attention to it or not. And so we can say, “try it, do it, why the hell not!” We need art because we need the blank canvas. We need empty spaces to experiment, to explore, to be bold, and most importantly make mistakes and fail. It is how we learn and how we grow.

This is why I love being an artist in Chicago. Chicago is a city characterized by its empty spaces and “blank canvases,” where art can happen in this unique way. Whether it is the physical space of our raw, empty lofts and industrial spaces, the mental space marked by the lack of the “industry” mentality that dominates other cities, or even our Midwestern sense of humility, sincerity and accessibility, Chicago’s artistic culture is infused with a spirit of “it does not matter.” It’s why many of America’s greatest artists and entertainers got their start in Chicago. It is a city in which artists can feel free to explore, develop and find their artistic voices while testing that voice in the arena of a great city. And while we lament that our artists often leave Chicago for greener pastures, I know that these same artists take pride in saying they are from Chicago—even going so far as to still call it home. I’d like to think that, like home, it is that place of comfort. It is that place you can always return to. To create art that does not matter.
It’s not that Chicago needs art. Art needs Chicago.
- Nat Soti
Chicago Art Department

On the “South Side” we would say your question is bogus!

The purpose of art is linked with the purpose of human life. Human beings make, and have always made, meaningful and communicative marks on all types of surfaces within their environments. It is a defining feature of our species. Art matters if we matter. So why is there today a question coming from the University of Chicago community on the purpose and need of art on the “South Side”? What branch of intellectual study questions the need of essentials in a geographical area? All of us need art to be human.

Art is being created on the “South Side” of Chicago and has been created continually on the south side of every other place since ‘day one.’ What type of being questions art’s significance for a particular area of the globe? … Are they dismissing an area as devoid of art, and in dire need of art, because they have not ventured into that area to see the marks that are made there?… Or are they actually questioning the significance/existence of art in those areas because they see the residents as “others” incapable of producing “art”?… Or worse are they anti-intellectual and have never fully studied their own art history, its borrowings, influences, cross fertilizations, and believe theirs is the only evolved significant art? If they didn’t do it, no art exists?

I am part of an organization (Diasporal Rhythms) that promotes the collection of contemporary art produced by artists of African descent (others?). What we find is that art has always been produced, collected, and appreciated on “every” side and that the appreciators of such have an obligation to hold it up for acclaim. If it isn’t held up, it is usually lost. Our organization is within a long art appreciation tradition stretching back to the founder of this city. The art history of the “South Side” needs to be carefully studied.

The questions posed to your University audience should, more appropriately, be (a) how do we assist in the promotion of art creation and art appreciation activities that are already occurring in and around the University and (b) how do we leverage the material and intellectual resources of the University (without changing its mission) in concert with those of community individuals and cultural institutions to read, study, and preserve the artistic marks produced, and being produced, and thereby foster a fuller understanding of local art history and reduce the concept of “otherness” in this community?
- Patric McCoy
Diasporal Rhythms

I will mention only the relevance in terms of art’s audience. One thing art does is to attract and affect an audience. What the members of the audience discover is that they are together in their appreciation of the art, and this is of enormous importance in their coming to understand that they have things in common with one another, and to that degree that they are alike. Of course this happens with things besides art, but it is especially pronounced in the case of art, and often most complicated and textured there.

The South Side art I’m most familiar with is jazz. The role it plays here, in addition to what I noted above, is an extremely important interracial role. Oddly, ironically, and somewhat sadly, although historically jazz is very much the creation of black artists, of late its principal audience is mostly white. On Chicago’s South Side, however, both the musicians and their audience are racially mixed. The commonality thus engendered is enormously valuable, and it can lead to much more. This is perhaps not so very different from the racially mixed audiences for sporting events, and the fans of Chicago teams, but here, somehow, the object of interest seems more subtle and deep.

The University does what it can, I suppose, and lately it has been doing more. No university can do everything, and traditionally the University of Chicago is academically conservative. This is its strength, no doubt, but it means that the University cannot afford heavy investments in things outside canonical academic pursuits. There is no strong tradition here, for instance, of the performing arts. It is nearly impossible for students to earn academic credit in the performing arts. This isn’t such a bad thing. It means that the opportunities for amateur artistic activity are extensive, and the room is not being taken up by professional and pre-professional artists.
- Ted Cohen
Professor of Philosophy, University of Chicago

People trying to make positive change in poor neighborhoods often seem focused solely on providing basics like improved housing or after school programs or health care. There is no question that services of this kind are crucial, but it is equally as important to remember that having access to things that are beautiful is part of what makes life worth living. One reason that Art in Action is so valuable is because it helps, in a small way, to satisfy this very real need for pleasure, fun, and loveliness in Woodlawn. Moreover, I think that making and enjoying art is something that speaks to most everyone, regardless of age, background, or socio-economic status. In this context, Art in Action unites citizens of the University and the surrounding neighborhood by illuminating what we have in common, and providing a safe forum for the discussion of how we can all come together over making the area we share the best it can be, regardless of our differences. The experience of creating art with people who we don’t typically relate to or empathize with helps us all to deconstruct the traditional boundaries, misunderstandings, and stereotypes that keep University students, faculty, and staff separate from our neighbors to the south. Even if it is just for a day, Art in Action draws us together as one community, and ideally, equips us to better understand and relate to one another even after it has come to an end.
- Hannah Birnbaum
Southside Solidarity Network, a University of Chicago club that organizes the Art in Action Festival every spring

I think [art] is very significant, the artists that create works of art are a voice to the public speaking on different issues—especially in the African-American community. It gives people a visual opportunity to conceive the concerns they’re dealing with on an ongoing basis, and see how people view the world at a specific point in time…what I create in 2008 can be looked back at in 2048. Art provides a historical point of view for the future. And from there we can see how things are constantly repeating themselves…like education, politicians have been talking about how we have to fix it for the past 200 years, but if I cover it in an art piece, it’s like, let’s get this thing fixed already.

[As for South Side art], I would have to say that from an institutional point of view the South Side art is primarily African-American, and in Chicago the institutions that support art are not primarily African-American—they show African-American art, but it’s not an institutionalized thing, you can’t see it on an everyday basis…it’s not [accessible] over a period of time and you don’t have that tangential access to it. If we didn’t have these institutions [on the South Side], a lot of people would have to go downtown—we need to spread these institutions across the city, get more people access to it. [When you can only view art downtown], people get intimidated—like you have to have a certain status to [view] it…I want it to be an ordinary process, get people’s mindsets to change a little bit, have people feel like it’s no big deal.

We look at our lives in the world as certain things we know we need for sure like shelter, or food and water…but just try to image a world without art—no music, no theater, no visual arts—what would you be doing? It’d be outrageous, it’d be like having no water…we need to get art into people’s lives, give people a way to express themselves.
-Bryant Johnson
Steelelife Gallery

Reported by: Sam Feldman, Laura Harmon, Yennie Lee, Julia Pagnamenta, Sean Redmond, Rachel Reed, and John Thompson

It’s 10pm on a Sunday night and Todd Frugia, proprietor of Rooms gallery in Pilsen, had just gotten home after a long day at work on the set of a McDonald’s commercial. Unlike some of his peers who complain about the need to do corporate work to pay the bills, Frugia doesn’t despair. “There’s a point where, in that realm, I’m pleasing my client, and I need my paycheck! I will acquiesce there, and do what they want. And then when I come home [to my studio], no one tells me what to do!” Frugia and his wife, Marakesh, have worked and lived in Pilsen for about ten years. The second floor of their gallery, called Rooms, is their home. “One of the guys I hired to do my camera operation is from the South Side; there’s a group of us (here) that are sort of professionals, sort of artists—there’s a real community.” Indeed, a “personal connection” between artists and their galleries distinguishes the community in Pilsen.

“It’s different from the intimidating galleries in the West Loop; they do great work, but I go in and I feel separated from it. And I come down here and see Gabe Lanza’s illustrations and I meet his family and his cats, and he’s (also) worried about bills; and his work is outstanding and it’s right there and I could buy a piece! It’s that personal connection. Even the MCA or the Art Institute, I go and expect beautiful pieces, but it’s so far away…” In regards to his experience as an artist on the South Side, Frugia ruminates, “we came here and met some friends who are photographers and video artists and almost immediately they took us in and we began to collaborate—that’s the spirit here.” Once Rooms Productions settled into its home on West 18th Street and built a small inventory of actors, camera crew, etc, Frugia noticed “…a texture to this environment, it’s just addictive: you want to stay here and work and create… It’s such a welcoming community: you can come in on any level, and if you’ve got good ideas you can work. That’s what’s unique to the South Side, and Pilsen in particular.”

Frugia recently returned from teaching an acting class at Colorado College. He thought it might also be a good opportunity to get some work of his own done. He admits it was a meaningful teaching experience, “but as far as writing or creating—I wasn’t like Walt Whitman, I just wanted to ski and relax. And then I come home and back to the texture.” He added, “I’ve never created as much as I have down here, it’s important to foster that. The key for me here is there’s a lot of energy…The South Side helps bring art out of you.” So for Frugia, the need is not bringing art to the South Side as much as bringing people to the South Side to see it. Those people comprise essentially two groups. On the one hand, those who live on the South Side but “feel intimidated by the gallery, as if it wasn’t for them.” On the other hand are artists on the North Side that show reluctance to trek down south, with excuses like safety and parking, despite support from artists in this area. “It’s about making the neighborhood more comfortable with that, but (also) making those North Siders more comfortable with it.” While Frugia doesn’t view art on the North vs. South Sides as a competition, “you start rooting for the South Side [all the same]” he admits. “On the one hand there’s a logical, aesthetic piece of me that says it’s great to bring [art] to this area; the North Side has this great history of art and theater but…something in the air down here, it’s more energized.”

When asked about incentive to work on the South Side, his response was anything but martyrdom. Quite the opposite, “I just saw it and thought wow, that looks like a great place to create… There’s just that right mix of grittiness, life, art and vibrancy that makes this area so vivid…it’s not about bringing art to the South Side, art already lives here, we just need to bring it out…” Every third Thursday Frugia personally helps bring art out rather than to the South Side, when he opens Rooms gallery for “Salon.” This is an impromptu performance, essentially prepared by forming a list of individuals from whom Frugia has received interest. It is an outlet for aspiring artists to perform or display any form of art. This in part responds to his “gripe” concerning the South Side: “When I was on the North Side, I kept feeling like I needed a lucky break.” Frugia noted numerous organizations that help showcase South Side art: the South Side Arts Network (which his wife Marrakesh recently joined), the Mexican Cultural Center, and the integral “Second Friday” event in Pilsen. The proximity of artists to their art is unique to the South Side, and for Frugia this is an important goal of art. “People like us who have to go during the day do the corporate work but come back to your gallery and do what you want.” (Rachel Reed)

For Sociology professor Terry Clark, art is part of “making culture into magic.” It fulfills the aesthetic demands of particular social groups and serves as an integral part of the rise of “scenes,” an increasingly vibrant unit of social activity. With post-industrial trends like a general increase in education, income level, individualism, and social tolerance, individuals come to regard art as a valuable amenity, not just a peculiar or interesting aspect of cultural life. This trend makes art socially meaningful not just on an individual level, but on the broader level of community cohesion, political action, and economic development.

“Traditional models of urban economic growth point to production, land, labor, capital, management, and later, human capital. But as these new post-industrial, post-modern cultural trends take place, cultural amenities such as art become increasingly important elements of economic growth as they attract the creative, young classes who have the human capital necessary to fulfill the needs of the new creative, service-based economy. But,” he clarifies, “it is not art in general that inherently holds social value, it’s about the kinds of art and scenes in specific locations and how they cater to the different aesthetic styles and cultural values of individuals.”

Particular local cultural preferences manifest themselves in “scenes,” which can be described in terms as diverse as “Disney Haven” and “Cool Cosmopolitanism.” Art acts as an essential part of these scenes, attracting individuals who want to consume particular kinds of culture and participate in new kinds of social interaction as well as tourists. From the local to the global level, the growing importance of art summed up in scenes is reshaping political and economic trends, as governments must respond to scenes as important social entities and businesses must respond to the cultural sensitivities they demand. (Laura Harmon)

This resemblance is not accidental, since spirituality is a central theme in “Bird Dog Sedition.” Written and directed by Todd Frugia, the play explores the relationship between actor and audience, as well as commenting on global politics and personal belief. On the program, Frugia explains, “As the play took shape I realized some pretty strong themes were unintentionally manifesting—themes I could never purposefully take on with any satisfaction.” Thus, instead of directly addressing matters of faith, purpose, and idealism, the play uses stories and monologues to project a smattering of thoughts on each.

What emerges is not entirely coherent; nor is it intended to be. The play seems designed to fulfill its first spoken statement: “She is dangerous.” “She” is an actress, specifically Stephanie Schnorbus, the woman on the pedestal. Her elevated status and rehearsed recitations are a critique of acting itself, both onstage and off. The work also allows the playwright to voice opinions that may or may not be sincerely his own, giving audience members the chance to decide how seriously they want to take them.

“Bird Dog Sedition” intentionally blurs the line between person and performer. Both Schnorbus and Marrakesh Frugia play characters of the same respective name, and they refer constantly to the scripted nature of their words and actions, intentionally muddying the distinction between the character and actor. Despite this, you know Marrakesh is telling a personal truth when she describes the many nights spent in rehearsal or her hope that we will enjoy the performance.

Such contradictions have great interest for Frugia. “Acting should be like a sport,” he says. “It’s a skill that has to be practiced, but there should also be a ‘wow’ factor—that ability to be in the midst of a deep emotion, and then suddenly switch.”

Those abrupt shifts in mood and character are common throughout the play. Schnorbus and Marrakesh each take their turns standing on the pedestal as the caricature of an actor, while the other directs her and talks to the audience. Bursts of righteous anger may be followed by long moments of awkward silence, which may in turn be broken by the yet more uncomfortable sound of heavy breathing. To predict or prepare oneself for the next move is impossible.

“They’re kind of preaching,” Frugia says of the many roles adopted by the actresses. “But they’re using different methods of preaching. There’s the insightful one, the calm one, the self-help guru—and they all have a goal.”

Though their particular goals may be different, they all share a desire to disrupt the lives of the audience. This may be accomplished simply by, as one character says, “planting a seed” of a new idea. In the words of Sam Shepard, as Frugia quotes him, “Plays don’t come from ideas; ideas come from plays.”

Those ideas may be political, as when an actress dons a blindfold or hood in an allusion to Abu Ghraib prisoners. Others, like the questions of faith and forgiveness, are intensely personal. Either way, “Bird Dog Sedition” challenges viewers to respond to its salvos—perhaps only for its duration, but possibly in their daily lives.

“Bird Dog Sedition,” ROOMS Productions, 645 W. 18th St. Through January 26. Friday-Saturday, 7:30pm and 9pm. 312-733-1356.

Todd Frugia’s “12 Speak,” which closes this weekend at Rooms Gallery in Pilsen, is complicated. Twelve small monitors are constantly playing back footage of free-speaking people. Sometimes one breaks down and Frugia will haphazardly restart the broken one irrespective of where the others ones are in their process. This ease with which the work can start back up perhaps stems from Mr. Frugia’s formal education and interest in theater. Similarly, he has co-opted the narrative element of theater for his current work. He says that he took what he liked from theater and brought it to art, and vice versa.

His intention for a purposeful, ambient space was skillfully accomplished (“theaterfication,” he called it). Fabric draped over windows cast tranquil light on the cool, quiet hardwood floors. Frugia and his wife own Rooms Productions, located in Rooms Gallery, and operated subsequent to their day jobs. Todd is a video producer, writing scripts and shooting commercials. I wondered, from actor, writer, director, artist, producer, how did Todd define his vocation? “[My] vocation?” He had never thought of it that way. “If you want to call me an artist, call me an artist. You want to call me an actor, producer—I don’t care. I have ideas I just want to express.”

So while it may be an “idea,” according to Todd, “12 Speak” is first and foremost a cacophonous sound that hits you the moment you walk into the gallery. You may expect all this noise to emanate from the tiny monitors, which are pleasantly arranged in a line down two separate white walls. There’s also a soft, thumping drum playing in the background as indecipherably as is each voice from the monitors. Unless you focus on it. The viewer, then, is responsible for his experience at “12 Speak.” He can choose, as Fugia says, “step back and take it as a whole,” and he will hear only noise. Or, he can choose a particular screen, step within a few inches in front of it, and share in the intimate thoughts from one of the eight men and four women featured. Some are them are shy; many are quite funny, sad and poetic. The artist humbly anticipates that perhaps this noise/focus paradigm holds some parallel to life.

The rules employed to make this piece are fairly simple. Inspired largely by Buddhist principals, Fugia expects that someone else could take this procedure and create his own “12 Speak.” In fact the number twelve is not its own source of meaning. Frugia said it could have been 15 Speak or 16 Speak if not for time and budget constraints. This is fitting with Todd’s belief that the work is “not completely dogmatic.” In fact he originally intended for it to be a single film, then once filming began he realized everyone needed his or her own monitor. Todd said he was open to change and the idea that work develops. “Meaning is where a lot of artists get tied down,” he says. While he strays away from “too much definition,” he does, however, believe in the power of ambiguity and mystery. He lets his visceral reactions guide the direction.

Watching the faces, I had a worrisome thought. What would happen to Frugia’s “12 Speak” ten, twenty, fifty years down the road? When I asked him this, he didn’t deny that unlike a painting, the complicated set-up is difficult to reproduce. But he maintains that there is a timeless aspect to the piece. “I don’t think man will ever change,” he said, “He won’t stop being egotistical, scared, lost. Life is really hard—complicated, rather—wherever you are.” Circumstances, he conceded, change the technical meaning of this difficulty we face. Yet “12 Speak” does not intend to unite us by appealing to this shared experience, necessarily. It’s more about embracing the reality, in a given moment, in our lives, of pain, not shying away from it even though it may reveal a weakness. The work makes you think, “I do have those thoughts, I do think that way.”